revealed a tall, thin-faced, dark-haired man in his
shirt and trousers who, seeing my pistol, at once put up his hands,
crying in Spanish:

"Ah! no--no! It is a mistake. Holy Madonna! I have mistaken the room!
I thought my friend Pedro was here! A thousand apologies, senor! A
thousand apologies."

"But my door was bolted! How did you get in?" I demanded fiercely.

"No, senor. It was not bolted. I have been taken very unwell. I was
seeking my friend Pedro," he stammered, pale and frightened. "Come to
my room, and I will show you my papers to prove that I am no thief,
but a well-known advocate of Burgos."

I told him roughly to turn his face to the wall while I went through
my belongings to satisfy myself that nothing had been stolen.

All seemed in order, and the fellow's explanation seemed to be quite
feasible--save for the fact that I distinctly remembered bolting the
door. Nevertheless I began to wonder whether I had not misjudged him.

"Come along to my room, senor," he urged. "I will show you my
identity papers. I have to offer you a thousand apologies."

I followed him to a room near the end of the corridor, where he
quickly produced documents and papers showing that his name was Juan
Salavera, an advocate, who lived in the Calle de Vittoria, in Burgos.
He showed me the portrait of his wife and child which he carried in
his wallet and a small painted miniature of his mother, and other
proofs of his integrity, including a case well filled with notes.

"I trust, senor, that you will no longer accuse me of being a thief!"
he said. "Our encounter would have been distinctly amusing had we not
so frightened each other as we have done."

I laughed, for I felt convinced that he was a respectable person, and
I really began to feel uncomfortable.

Indeed, I muttered an apology for my rather rough behaviour, and at
the same time I noticed upon the left side of his neck a deep scar
probably left by an abscess.

"My dear senor, it was quite forgiveable in the circumstances," he
declared, offering me a cigarette and taking one himself. "I had
supper at a restaurant after the theatre to-night and ate something
which had disagreed with me. Half an hour ago I felt faint, so I rose
and went to find my friend Pedro Espada, who came with me from Burgos,
and I entered your room in mistake. He must be in the room next
yours."

"Shall we seek him?" I asked.

"No. I feel much better now, thanks," was his reply. "The fright